


bury your broken bones

by the_crownless_queen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU - Soulmates, Fluff, Healing, M/M, Post War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-07-18 06:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16113116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_crownless_queen/pseuds/the_crownless_queen
Summary: On his eighteenth birthday, he will wake up ten years into the future and he will find his soulmate. These are the facts Draco has to deal with. Even so, nothing prepares him for what that future is.





	bury your broken bones

It's not like it's unexpected, or unexplainable. It is, in fact, very much expected and explainable — everyone knows how, on their eighteenth birthday, each person travels ten years into their personal future for one day, and how that meeting is supposed to lead them to finding their soulmate.

It doesn't always work, of course, but nobody really talks about those people. They're…  _unlucky_. Most people end up in a future where they know their soulmate in some way — either platonically or romantically — and they can build from that in the present, when they return.

Even so, Draco almost misses it. He loses track of time after the war ends, and it's not like he really has all that much to look forward to. His father is in prison and he and his mother just barely escaped the same fate, he can't go back to the Manor without being seized with dread, and everyone they meet eyes them with either fear or contempt.

Somehow, he'd thought life would be easier once the war ended. Either Voldemort would have won, and his family would have been safe, or he would lose, and well, at least they wouldn't have to deal with that man — if he could even be called that — living in their house.

But it's not. Not really. Before, Draco had had a purpose, or perhaps he'd only thought he did. Now, however, he is… lost. Cast off, free to be anything or anyone he wants to be, but with no idea of what or who that is.

And all this means that he really only remembers his birthday because his mother reminds him so the night before.

"Ready for tomorrow?" she asks him over dinner.

Draco puts down his spoon. He's barely touched the soup, even though it's his favorite. Everything just feels different now, without his father there — everything, from the champagne-colored tablecloth to the oddly heavy atmosphere in the room.

"What's tomorrow?"

She laughs at first, but it dies off quickly once she realizes he was being serious.

"Oh, Draco…" The pity in her voice makes his stomach turns. "It's your birthday tomorrow. You'll meet your soulmate; isn't that great?"

"I — Yes. Great," he lies. He sees in her eyes that she wants him to be happy about this, to get excited for it, but he can't.

He's damaged. The war may be over but it goes on in his dreams every night, and he can't imagine anyone would ever want him. He'd used to, before. As a child, he had daydreamed about his soulmate all the time.

Those daydreams, filled with the racist rhetoric he'd been spouting of then, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth now.

Now, he can't imagine anyone who'd like to be shackled off to some failed Death Eater, who still bears the mark of his mistakes on his skin, inked on his forearm as a reminder of his shame.

"What is it?" his mother asks. She had always been too perceptive when it came to him. Of course she sees right through that lie.

Draco sighs. "It's just… I'm not so sure about this."

"Just trust me." Her eyes soften. "When I was your age, and I knew I would meet my soulmate… I felt frightened, and anxious. But then I met your father, and I felt… Well, I felt a bit silly for worrying, if I have to be honest. I'm sure you'll feel the same way — you'll love them, and they'll love you."

"There's no such thing as love, it's a fantasy," he wants to spit back, but it wouldn't be true. He'd just be being bitter, and his mother deserves better from him.

Even so, he feels uneasy. He's heard it a million times, of course, but today is the first time it makes his stomach twist unpleasantly instead of warming him.

Today, he can't help but think that soulmates don't have to mean happy endings. That even the universe can go wrong.

And what if it does for him? What if tomorrow, he wakes up and hasn't left the present? Plenty of people died during the past few years. There is no guarantee his soulmate wasn't one of them.

Or what if he doesn't like the person he finds?

(What if he does?)

"Draco? Are you alright?"

His mother's concerned voice snaps him out of his downward spiral, and he sends her a polite smile he hopes is convincing. "I'm fine, Mother. But I think I might turn in early tonight. I hope you understand."

She smiles back at him softly as she nods, telling him that, of course, she does.

They finish the meal in silence, the soup bland and cold in his mouth.

That night, he turns and turns and turns in his bed, unable to stop his mind from thinking.

_What if they hate you?_  it whispers, and that would only be right, that would be what he deserves, but Draco doesn't want that.

He wants what his parents had, their happy ending type of love, because even if they can only see his father through prison bars now, and possibly forever, at least his mother still loves him.

He wants that.

He hopes for it, and it makes his heart race painfully in his chest.

When he finally falls asleep, he doesn't know what time it is, only that it is painfully late.

He does so hoping that the future he wakes up to will be a kind one.

.

Sunlight tickles alongside his jaw, and Draco groans, burying his face deeper into his pillow.

But… it isn't his pillow, just as this isn't his room, or his bed. The sun never reaches his face in his room at the Manor.

Heart racing, he opens his eyes slowly, sitting up against the wall in order to better take in his surroundings.

The room is… odd. Lived-in, in the way nothing at the Manor really ever gets — house elves cleaning up after everything does that. But it's more than that, too. The room feels  _warm_  and cozy —  _homey_ , even. It's much less opulent than the Manor, but somehow, Draco doesn't mind it at all. It glows with early sunlight, chasing away any lingering shadows, and it feels too perfect to be real.

There is a second set of clothes that can't belong to him — the size isn't quite right, and no matter how far off into the future, Draco can't imagine he'd ever wear  _that_  — a pair of glasses on the other bedside table, and a hundred other little details showing that somebody else lives here with him.

That another man lives here.

_His soulmate_ , his mind whispers, and his mouth runs dry at the thought.

He gets up slowly after that, reeling from the thought. This is real — he had always known it was, but it feels…  _concrete_  now, in a way it hadn't before.

He feels a sudden burst of jealousy for this seemingly perfect life his future self appears to be living.  _When does he get there_? he can't help but wonder, pleading within his mind.

_When?_

Nobody answers him. Taking a deep breath, and attempting bravery for what is perhaps the first time in his life, he pulls open the door and ventures out into his future.

It becomes instantly clear that it isn't a Manor, or even any kind of house. It is too small for that, too ordered, with only one main corridor that he follows toward what he guesses is either the kitchen or the living-room. He spots another bedroom on the way, and for an instant, he thinks there might be children and his blood freezes in his veins, but no, it's just a guest room.

(And he isn't disappointed. He isn't.)

The place isn't as small as he had first thought, but it is still smaller than anywhere he's lived before.

_Maybe his future self doesn't have everything,_ he thinks, and promptly hates himself for how petty that sounds.

There are things that matter more than material wealth and power. Learning this was a painful lesson, but one that he hopes he learned well.

The door to the bathroom is open, slightly, but enough that he catches sight of his reflection.

He almost doesn't recognize himself, and it's not just the age. The Draco in the mirror looks settled in a way Draco has only ever dreamed about. He looks content, thin laughter lines just barely starting to come in but visible nonetheless.

He looks… Happy.

Draco wants that.

He moves on toward the kitchen, heart pounding in his chest. As he'd thought, the corridor leads him to the kitchen. A man is there, humming as he flips pancakes, and Draco feels his lips pull into a smile before he can help himself.

He clears his throat and the man spins around, pancake missing the pan and falling onto the floor. It's a bit ridiculous, and he can't help but laugh.

The man laughs with him as he sets down his pan. He shakes his head, his hair falling from a messy bun to frame his face. He is very handsome, and Draco can feel himself blush.

His hair is also very red, and it surprises him how long that took to register. With that hair, he has to be a Weasley, and that is… Well, that is rather unexpected.

"Good morning," the unnamed Weasley says, smiling. He has dimples. "And Happy birthday."

"Good morning,...?" Draco replies.

The man laughs again. He laughs with his whole body, like he doesn't know how to be anything but wholly himself, and suddenly, Draco can see why his future self would be willing to give a Weasley a chance.

"Charlie. My name is Charlie. I forgot you wouldn't know that yet."

"Weasley?"

"Yes." Charlie's blue eyes turn unapologetic, and he raises an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

Draco shrugs. "I don't know. Is it?"

For some reason, that makes Charlie laugh again. He has a nice laugh. "Fair enough," he says. "And no, it's not. Well, not really, anyway. I don't think our families will ever we best friends, but you and I —" he shrugs "— we make it work."

"So, you're my soulmate then?" It's not really a question, even if it does come out as one.

Charlie nods.

The silence that follows is a little awkward. Charlie's eyes seem to keep being torn between Draco and that unfinished pile of pancakes — blueberries, Draco's favorite, and he won't pretend that it makes his stomach do something funny — whereas Draco simply doesn't know where to look or how to act.

This may be his soulmate, but right now, Charlie is still a stranger. An older stranger, which means that back in his present, Charlie  _knows_  about Draco already, and yet he never sought him out. He isn't quite sure how to feel about that, even if current evidence seems to show they've managed to work past that.

Draco clears his throat. "How — How did we meet?"

Charlie laughs. "That's kind of a long story. Do you mind if we talk over breakfast instead?"

As if on cue, Draco's stomach growls. "Of course," Draco replies, blushing. He stands there awkwardly for a few moments as Charlie turns back to the pan, turning the heat back on with a flick of his wand. "Do you — Do you need me to do anything?"

Charlie looks back at him, eyeing him up and down as he bites his lips. "Could you set the table? Glasses and plates are here —" he nods at the cupboard on the left "— and cutlery is in the drawer." He frowns. "Wait, do you know how?"

Draco scoffs. "Of course I know how." It's a blatant lie — he never had much use for household spells, and somehow, he can't imagine his mother knowing them either. He could do it by hand, of course, but that feels like admitting defeat.

(And he's definitely never done that either.)

From Charlie's chuckle, he knows it too. It doesn't sound mocking though, the way he'd half-expected it to. It sounds fond.

"It's fine if you don't," Charlie says. "I can show you — Merlin knows I used to be useless at first too when I first started."

Draco's first reaction is to bristle and say he doesn't need help, but that's what the old Draco would have done. The Draco who never planned on learning any better, who thought his father was the best man in the world.

This newer version of him, for all that he is still trying to figure himself out, should be better.

"I would appreciate if you did," he answers, nodding stiffly.

Charlie grins. "Of course."

The spells are trickier to get the hang of than Draco had expected, even though they're basically a variant on the Levitation Charm; but at least he doesn't break anything.

"You took to this better than I did," Charlie notes as he brings the food to the table.

A little awkwardly, Draco answers, "Thanks."

The pancakes are delicious: fluffy and flavorful, and everything that Draco loves. They're gone too soon.

Charlie watches him with a smile.

"What?" Draco asks, frowning.

Charlie shrugs, that easy smile still playing on his lips. "Nothing. Just… It's nice to see some things don't change."

Draco doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing and eats the last of his food. He feels… jittery, now that they no longer have that excuse to use to avoid talking about… Well, about everything.

But Draco isn't quite sure where to start. There is no rules for this, no protocol to follow. Of course, revealing too much of the future is never a good idea, but soulmate meetings have always been sort of te exception to that rule.

They're  _natural_ , in a way Time Turners or other devices aren't. There has never been a report of a soulmate meeting changing the timeline, personal or otherwise — time, it seems, always happens in a certain way.

But that doesn't help, because it means that Draco can ask anything he wants to. Anything at all.

He lets his gaze drift around the room to avoid looking at Charlie, but there is only so much to look at before he comes back to his soulmate.

His soulmate, who knows who he is in their present and yet hasn't made a move.

"Why?" he asks. He swallows dryly. He doesn't want to know this — can only imagine what kind of excuse a Weasley will have for not approaching him (he wouldn't, in Charlie's place, of course he wouldn't) — but he has to.

He has to, because whatever reason Charlie had for staying away, something changed his mind.

Something changed his mind, and Draco has to know what that something was.

Charlie frowns. "Why what?" But then something flashes in his eyes and he sighs. "I'm sorry — I forgot how young you are now."

Draco bristles, but he bites his tongue at the last moment. He supposes that to Charlie, who has grown used to the man Draco will become, Draco must seem young now, for all that he is still in his older self's body.

Charlie looks away and licks his lips. Draco finds himself tracking the movement — Charlie's lips are very pink — until he realizes he's doing it and looks away, blushing violently.

"I met you when I was eighteen," Charlie finally says. "It was… a surprise." He isn't quite fast enough to hide his wince, and Draco tries not to let it hurt.

"This is too," Draco says instead, because it is.

To his surprise, Charlie laughs. "What, didn't expect the other half of your soul to be a Weasley?"

"Not exactly, no," Draco retorts dryly. "But I guess you didn't exactly expect a Malfoy either."

Charlie shakes his head, still smiling. "You have to know, Draco, that me staying away had nothing to do with what your family name is."

Draco scoffs and arches an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And what, it had something to do with  _me_  instead? Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Charlie rolls his eyes at him. " _No_. Not at all." His lips pulled into a wry smile. "Trust me, I would have tried to see you somehow if I could have, but you told me not to."

"And you always do what you're told to do?" Draco says, incredulous. Somehow, he can't imagine Charlie being the rule follower type.

Charlie's smile widens. "Of course not." He sobers up, his blue eyes darkening as he stares at Draco. "But I do when it's important. And you told me you were the one who found me, which means that —"

"I'll find you," Draco finishes, anger dissipating. Of course. It'd make sense that he'd somehow keep his own soulmate away from himself.

Charlie nods, and his grin turns mischievous. "You will," he confirms. "And besides, you were, what, twelve when I found out who you were? I doubt that would have gone over well with, well, anyone."

Despite himself, Draco lets out a chuckle. Charlie's right: Draco can't picture such a thing going well, and not only because his twelve-year-old self would have rather done anything but accept a soulbond to a Weasley.

It makes sense. Draco kind of hates that it makes sense, even though he is also relieved.

It is a very confusing way to feel.

But the rest of the day is easier after that. Knowing that his soulmate had a proper reason for staying away… It helps.

Charlie refuses to tell him how they actually met — will meet? Time travel is confusing. He throws enough hints Draco's way for him to know that it's not going to happen soon — though 'soon' may be relative — but the more interesting bits are the references to Draco becoming a Healer.

"A Healer?" Draco asks, starting.

For some reason, Charlie looks taken aback by Draco's surprise. "Yes?" And he says it like it's an evidence, like of course, Draco is a Healer.

"You mean you've never thought about it?" Charlie continues.

Voiceless, Draco shakes his head.

He had always thought he'd end up following in his father's footsteps, managing the family fortune and maneuvering inside the Ministry. And then, once those avenues had closed to him, he hadn't had any other idea.

Becoming a Healer, as prestigious a position as it can be, would still have been beneath a Malfoy in his father's mind. As such, it had never crossed his mind.

Yet, somehow, Draco finds it appealing for that very reason. Enough, at least, to think about it some more.

He looks up at Charlie and shrugs.

And that's it for that conversation; only it's not.

It's not, because Draco can't stop thinking about it. Charlie tells him they're in Romania and that he works with dragons — that would explain the need for a Healer, Draco thinks — but all that Draco's mind seems to be able to focus on is the Healing part.

He likes it, is the thing. He likes it a lot. It feels… right.

The day seems to fly by, in the end. It's almost like a dream, even though Draco knows it to be real.

But it almost feels as though one moment he's waking up in another bed, and the next he's laying back in that bed, ready to wake up back in his own time, in his own body.

Even for a wizard, it feels surreal.

Charlie stays with him this time, though he doesn't get into the bed with him. Draco's shamefully glad for that, because he has no idea how to handle  _that_.

"Thank you," he says as he lies down, and it's only half-reluctant. He bites back a yawn.

Charlie's smile widens and softens. His blue eyes are fond. He doesn't ask what Draco is thanking him for — he doesn't need to. "Anytime."

Falling asleep is the easiest thing he's ever done, after that.

The easiest, and the hardest.

But it's fine — Draco has the rest of his life to look forward to, and he has a soulmate to find.


End file.
